I'll be Home for Christmas, Hermione
by Bbe-with-the-Power
Summary: Head Auror Harry's been called away to deal with dark wizards just days before Christmas. Can he really keep his promise to Hermione that he'll be home for the holidays? post-DH, Christmas, canon-compliant excluding the Epilogue-That-Shall-Not-Be-Mentioned and some Pottermore, same AU as my other HP Christmas fics, Harmony, no Weasley-bashing. Merry Christmas!


So I definitely made it before 10:00 am and that's good. Let me just say that I'm sorry for any inconveniences within the past six hours. I typed up about half the story on my iPad and wasn't able to upload through a computer until just now. The main issue was the formating: whenever I tried to preview the story, it would only appear in some weird script format and made reading difficult. Of course, I think someone already favorited the story so I guess you out there must not have had the same problem I was having? I don't know. Alright, well, it's up and that's awesome. Have fun reading!

By the way, this takes place in the same AU as my other HP Christmas fanfics. They're all standalone, so you don't have to read the others first or whatevs, just giving you a heads up.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Disclaimer: Unless I marry into the Rowling family, I'll never own Harry Potter or any of its merchandise, spinoffs, profits... Basically, I'm butt poor and don't own HP. Do what you want; it's America.

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I'll be Home for Christmas, Hermione

 _One by one, they appeared. All of them in their black cloaks and masks as pale as death, with their hoods up. They stood upon a hill's crest in a circle, not unlike the old days. They began turning their heads, ready to face him and ready to show him the prize they secured._

 _He knew that beneath each of their masks was a devilish grin wrought with vengeance for their former master. Held tightly between them was the one thing Harry cherished above all things, the one thing he'd do anything to protect. Hermione Granger, his pregnant wife._

 _They raised their wands as they began to chant in some archaic language, cackling all the while. It wasn't exactly magic, at least not as Harry knew it. It was something far worse._

" _Stay away from her! Don't you touch her!" Harry shouted at the band of Death Eaters. Ire coursed through his veins, setting him aflame._

 _Several of the masked men stared at him, faces alight with malice. Others jeered and still others pressed on with the ritual. They prepared to cast what could only have been inferred as a curse far more damaging than the dealer of death itself._

 _He ran towards the gathering, wand arm raised, but as he tried to barrel his way up the hill, the distance between the two parties expanded. He ran faster. The stretch of earth that divided him from his wife's attackers and himself kept going on forever until all he could see were black dots against a grey sky. Then he heard her scream._

Harry jolted from his sleep, sweat pouring down his back despite the cold weather he was sleeping in, wand raised. For a minute, he was confused, trying to remember where he was, what he was doing there, and why it was so bloody cold.

All he could see in the dark were the slumbering forms of his team of Aurors. Dawlish. Williamson. Galfrey. Finnian. Murphy. Liu. Bennett. Sherman. Only Williamson was awake, meant to keep watch over her sleeping compatriots.

She stared at him, shivering beneath a thin blanket. At first glance, she seemed almost blue, waxen, frozen amidst the still forms of her partners and biting winds. Nearly silently, she whispered to Harry, "Sir, are you alright? You needn't have woken up for another twenty minutes."

Still in shock from his dream, Harry returned her stare for a moment before pulling his coat tighter around him, adjusting his hat, and making his way over to her huddled form. He had been wearing the same white shirt, black trousers, red suspenders, trench coat and everything in between for the past three days and he had been dying for a hot shower. "I'll take over the rest of your watch, Amanda."

She scoffed, "I can finish off the rest of my turn. I'll wake you up again in twenty minutes. Just go back to sleep."

"I hate to pull rank, but I'm the commanding officer here, Williamson, and I say that I can take over the rest of your watch."

She merely scowled as she stood up and stalked off to her designated patch of earth. While she pulled her blanket across her shoulders, Harry could've sworn he heard her mutter something less than professional under her breath.

He sat in Williamson's vacated seat and kept watch over his team. However, his thoughts drifted toward Hermione and her safety. All he could think about was the dream and how all of his efforts to protect her had failed. Initially, right after the War, Harry signed up with the Auror Office because he believed that fighting and capturing dark wizards was what he was best at. After all, for seven years in a row, Harry had gone toe-to-toe with the dark arts. Moreover, he had defeated the most dangerous wizard of his time, Lord Voldemort.

He, Ron, and Neville had done a bang-up job of rounding up the most avid of Voldemort's old supporters for a few years. Then, Ron went off to help George run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before Neville left to teach Herbology at Hogwarts. With far fewer dark wizards on the loose and two of his best friends gone, the only thing that kept Harry with the Aurors instead of perusing other options was Hermione. He could've signed on with any Quidditch team or taught Defense of Dark Arts at Hogwarts; he could've had his pick of the lot, but he stayed to protect her.

More than anything else, Hermione was Harry's reason to stay with the Aurors. He took it upon himself to stand by her side, to protect her in the most discreet of ways because heaven knows what would've happened to her otherwise. Not that he didn't think that she could take care of herself—sometimes she was more capable than Harry—but the thought of being around to ensure her safety kept him working around the clock.

Harry felt the dire need to protect her especially now. They had married earlier this year after he proposed last Christmas and she was now six months pregnant. She had taken off work two weeks ago and the thought of not being able to communicate with her while on a covert mission was killing him. He hated not talking to her, not knowing what she did that day, if she went out to Diagon Alley to purchase things for the baby, if she went to visit her parents. Most of all, he missed her sparkling eyes and her laugh that sounded like the tinkling of bells; he missed the feel of her in his arms, how she'd always give him her opinion even if he didn't like it.

Sitting in the freezing wind and feeling the chill as his teeth began to chatter, he wondered if Hermione made her famous pumpkin spice cookies and a gingerbread house. He wondered if Ron and Luna had come over to help her decorate the house. Incidentally, they moved into the cottage in Godric's Hollow directly across from his parents' former house. Speaking of which, he wondered if she visited their graves and left a wreath, a Christmas Eve tradition for the two of them that spawned during their Horcrux Hunt.

He wondered if she would forgive him for missing their first Christmas as a married couple.

He thought back to the night before his departure. It had been four days ago: he had arrived home, late from work, and completely downtrodden at the news he would have to tell Hermione. He knew she wouldn't appreciate the fact that he would have to leave so close to Christmas, but as Head Auror, it was his job to deploy a team as soon as information on dark wizards returned to the office, especially if these wizards happened to be Antonin Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange.

Harry remembered it as if it were yesterday: he had apparated to the alley two blocks from Hermione and his cottage and trudged his feet in the snow the entire way. He had made it to the front door and was about to enter when he turned and looked over his shoulder towards the ever-remaining ruins of his parents' old home. Sighing, he turned back and unlocked his own front door.

The second he walked in, he could smell turkey pot pie wafting from the kitchen. Hermione was no Mrs. Weasley by a long shot, but she certainly knew how to bake pot pies. As he turned toward the coat rack to shift off his trench coat and fedora, he pictured the place settings and his glass full of butterbeer.

At that moment, Hermione came in from the kitchen wearing a large sweater and her softest slippers. Her bushy hair had been tied back in a messy plait so it didn't find its way into the food.

"Harry!" she squealed delightedly as she threw her arms around him.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry greeted her, albeit nervously. "How was your day, darling?"

She started walking off toward the kitchen, beckoning him to follow her. "You won't believe how boring it is to stay home all day! I mean, there's hardly anything to do compared to being back at work. I suppose that's the point, though."

"Yeah, Hermione, you're supposed to be resting."

"I know that," she said matter-of-factly. "At least I get all the time in the world to read. Honestly, I don't think I've read what I've really wanted for the past two years, being busy with work and all."

"That's wonderful, dear," he said sincerely. He wondered if now would be the right time to tell her. _No, wait until you've eaten already,_ said a voice in his head. _Otherwise you'll go hungry tonight_.

He pulled out her chair and waited until she was seated before he sat down himself. "Darling, you make the best pot pie."

She raised an eyebrow. "Even better than Molly's?" she inquired suspiciously.

He swallowed a gulp of butterbeer, feeling the heat rising to his ears. "Even better than Molly's," he confirmed. "So, what did you read today?"

She cut a piece of her pot pie and took a bite before saying, "Oh, Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_ ; you know how I read that every year around Christmas."

"Of course. Did anything else happen today?"

Her face softened a little. "Not really, I mean, nothing important really."

It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Come on, Hermione, what's wrong?"

Her bottom lip began to quiver and she started to avoid his gaze. "Harry, you know how I've been reading up on pregnancies, right? Well, all of my manuals say that by six months, you're supposed to feel the baby move and I haven't yet."

"Alright?" Harry wasn't sure how to respond.

"Oh, Harry! I haven't felt him or her move at all! Maybe I'm doing something wrong or—"

"Hermione!" he cut her off. "I'm sure there's nothing wrong. Maybe…because it's the first one…" he had no idea what to say, but he knew that he needed to keep her happy at all costs. He couldn't just tell her he was going away without something to cushion the news. "Maybe it just takes longer and you have to wait a bit with the first one. I mean, neither of us has been pregnant before, so we wouldn't know, would we?"

She started to giggle. "Harry James Potter, if you'd been pregnant before, I don't know what I would do." Her giggles turned to outright snickers. He then started to laugh right alongside her.

Soon, they had finished eating without so much as a crumb or drop remaining. In his most gentlemanly fashion, Harry offered to clean up while Hermione went upstairs. Once she disappeared up the stairs, Harry wiped his brow, ever nervous about how he would break the news to her.

When he went upstairs, he heard the shower running and quietly went to the closet to take out a small overnight bag. Quickly, he began filling it with the essentials: water bottles, miniature ration packs, a blanket, a change of clothes, and of course, his toilet kit. He didn't even hear the water shut off as he scrambled to finish his packing.

Suddenly, however, he heard a soft padding of feet and a quiet and confused voice behind him say, "You're leaving?"

Harry froze. He had been caught before he could even explain himself. "Darling, you're not going to like this, but I have to go for a few days. The office has confirmed the locations of Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange."

The shock started melting off her face, turning into a calm rage. "When were you going to tell me?"

"As soon as you got out of the shower, dear, I swear," he told her nervously.

"Harry," she was rubbing her temples, "do you know what day it is?"

"Yeah, it's, uh, it's December 20th." She was glaring at him.

"So you are aware that there are only four days until Christmas, right?"

"Of course, sweetheart." His whole face felt hot.

Suddenly, her fury dissolved into tears. "Harry, how could you leave just before Christmas? Why do _you_ have to leave? It has something to do with me, doesn't it?"

Harry crossed the room swiftly to hold her, but she started pushing him away. "Darling, it has nothing to do with you. But, you know Dolohov and the Lestranges. I'm the Head Auror; I have to go. I have to go whenever it's someone from the old days. You know that."

"But why so soon to Christmas? Take a week off!" Her cries escalated.

"You know I can't do that, Hermione." He was still trying to hold her. "You know that I do all this for you."

"Well, you can stop doing it for me. I'm asking you to stop trying to protect me right now." She was still hysterical.

"Hermione, love, you know that's not an option. The minute I stop protecting you is the minute I die. Besides, all this distress isn't good for the baby. Please calm down, sweetheart."

Her sobs persisted until she finally gave out, finally allowing Harry to embrace her still-shaking frame. Her tears soaked the shoulder of his white dress shirt as he patted her hair. He led her to their bed and sat her down on its edge. Sitting to her right, he took hold of one of her hands with his right and encircled her shoulders with his left arm.

Turning to look at her as she continued to sniffle, he said, "How about this, darling? I promise that I'll be home for Christmas." She looked him in the eye as if she didn't believe him. "Plan on it," he replied to he unasked question. "Just imagine it: there'll be snow and mistletoe, presents by the tree. And Ron, Luna, Ginny, Neville, they'll all be there."

"But, Harry, can you actually promise that? I mean, isn't that sort of thing beyond your control?"

"Well, if I'm not here physically, I'll be here in here," he told her as he pointed to his head. "Darling, I'll be dreaming of you and being here for our first Christmas every moment. Trust me, by Christmas Eve, I'll be where the love light gleams, or whatever that means, you know?"

She shook her head. "That's okay. All that matters is that we'll be together on Christmas, even if only in spirit. But," he started with a serious intensity, "I will do everything in my power to be back to you as soon as possible."

She sniffled still as she gave him a sad smile, "It's just that this was supposed to be our first Christmas and what with the baby and all..." she trailed off. "But I suppose that this is just something you have to do," she said with a sigh.

"I know that tone in your voice," Harry recognized. "Hermione Jean Potter, don't think for a second that I find this more important than you and the baby. I do this for you and the baby, to keep you safe. Because you know what they're like; you've experienced it firsthand. You know that they won't think twice about kidnapping you, or worse, to get to me. And so you know that I need to deal with them before they can even think about trying to get to you."

"I know all about your reasoning, not that I necessarily agree with it," she said in defeat. "But, and I'm holding you to this, you've got to promise me that you won't do this next year, that you'll send someone else if another similar situation arises, okay?"

"Oh, Hermione! Yes of course, dear!" He enveloped her with his arms before planting his lips on hers and kissing her senseless. "I love you!"

"I love you too," she giggled.

The next morning, Harry had woken early, kissed his sleeping wife's forehead, dressed for work, collected his things, and headed off to his apparition point. He sat through briefings, gave out assignments, and instructed his team on how best to handle the situation. And that's how he got to sit in the snowy night air with barely a trench coat and blanket. He shivered.

 _I'm dreaming of you, Hermione, love. It's Christmas and all I want is to be beside you before the fireplace and the tree. It's Christmas and we're trying to guess our baby's gender and think of names. It's Christmas and we're getting ready to go to the Burrow for dinner with the rest of our family. It's Christmas and I miss you._

Suddenly, a light went on in the cabin at the top of the hill he and his crew camped out on. It was time. He began waking up his team, "Oy, get up, all of you! They're here." He marched around, shaking the shoulders of the heavier sleepers as some groggily rubbed their eyes.

Once everyone had awoken, Harry recited the strategy: "Alright, Dawlish, Finnian, and Williamson: you three will circle the perimeter and close off any escape routes. Keep Dolohov and Lestrange contained at all costs and call for backup only if worst comes to worst. Bennett, Sherman, Murphy: you three will concentrate on Lestrange while Galfrey, Liu, and I will go after Dolohov.

"Remember: these are some of the most dangerous Death Eaters we've encountered since the end of the Second War. They were both in Voldemort's inner circle and take pleasure in murder and torture, just see the file on the Longbottom tortures, so be very careful." Checking all their faces for understanding, Harry paused before ushering them up the hill.

They split into their three groups as Harry wordlessly cast "Alohamora!" at the doorknob. Wands up and ready to stun on sight, Harry and five of his team tread carefully into the cabin. Almost at once, a jet of green light shot past Galfrey's left ear and the stunning began.

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

"STUPEFY!"

Incantations ricocheted around the tiny room until all that was left were two motionless forms on the far side of the cabin's floor and three slightly injured Aurors.

Staring down at the unconscious Death Eaters, Harry said with a grimace, "Liu, Murphy: tie them up." Calls of "Incarcerous!" and "Locomotor mortis!" could be heard as Harry lit up his wand with a swift "Lumos!" and began searching the rest of the cabin. Following his lead, Galfrey's, Sherman's, and Bennett's wands also lit up.

"No trace of hostages, sir," Sherman called out.

"Look, sir!" Bennett was pointing at a scroll laid bare on the table nearest the kitchen. Writing Harry had never seen before kept appearing and disappearing, as if on one long and continuous credits roll after a movie.

"We'll have to take it back to Headquarters for research," Harry told him. But before anyone could reach for it or even point a wand at it, it disappeared with a _pop_. No trace of its existence remained. "Damnit," he cursed under his breath, "That was our one chance of learning if anyone else was working with them. Of course, I wouldn't doubt it, but we'll just have to keep looking for more proof until then.

Alright, we'll go back to the Ministry to file our reports, I'll send a team in to clean up, and we can all go home and have a Merry Christmas. Right then!" With his own faint _pop_ , Harry disapparated and appeared in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic.

Numb from the cold, exhausted from the long night, and longing to return home, the next couple of hours passed in a blur. So out of it was he, that he failed to realize that midnight had come and gone and that it was now Christmas morning. Once more, he sat through meetings, debriefed, and oversaw the prisoner transfer of Dolohov and Lestrange to a specialized branch of his department. All he wanted was to go home and have a nice bath.

Finally, when it was acceptable for him to leave for home, he took up his overnight bag, fixed his fedora over his eternally messy hair, and tugged on his trench coat to close. He apparated to the set point in the alley two blocks from home. Already, the sun was shining upon the freshly fallen snow as he trudged up to his front door.

Before he could put his hand on the knob, the door swung open and Hermione, crying happily threw herself into his arms. Her hair had been pinned up and she wore a long dressing gown over her nightgown.

"Hermione, you wouldn't believe how much I've missed you! And I-"

She put her finger to his lips and looked up. Mistletoe. Immediately understanding, Harry bent his face down so as to better reach his wife's. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, and full of their unspoken mutual love.

Finally breaking apart, Harry grinned at her, "I told you I'd be home for Christmas, Hermione."

She nearly scowled at him before saying, "I'm pretty sure you were supposed to be here by last night at the latest. Christmas Eve, remember?"

"Ah, well!" he said happily as he lifted her up, supporting her back and knees and carrying her over to the sofa. After shutting the door behind them, he sat beside her. But instead of grabbing a cookie from the nearby plate or opening any presents, he reached for his wife.

He pulled her closer as he wrapped an arm around her waist and another at the base of her neck. She, in turn, ran her hands through his forever messy hair. Overjoyed at being reunited, they pressed their lips together, each savoring the feel of the other.

Suddenly, Harry felt something briefly press against his abdomen. Hermione's belly was pushed tightly up against it...

Hermione froze, then slowly pushed herself away from Harry, eyes wide. Then, she made a strange face before her eyes bulged again.

"Harry!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Our baby just kicked me!"

His worried expression split into the broadest smile since he and Hermione learned she was pregnant. He grabbed her face and gave her a large but quick smooch. "Hermione, I love you!"

Fin.


End file.
